


Stood Up

by OriginalCeenote



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst, Blind Date, Broken Date, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry's Hideaway, RoLo, Shopping with girlfriends, Slow Dancing, consolation sex, in my head canon Logan has always loved Ororo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two friends... Right?</p>
<p>The one where Ororo gets stood up for a blind date she didn't want, and Logan picks up the slack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stood Up

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from the RoLo Realm.
> 
> Dedicated to batman_wolverine, who suggested a fic might go well with the drawing. And of course, who’s been asking me to write something comic-based (more or less) without heaping buckets of angst, chick flick drama, or Ororo dating anyone assholish. So, here ya go, buddy, hope this fits the bill.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own the X-Men. Or Ororo’s shoes. I make no money from writing this, one more thing that sucks about the recession…

Ororo’s heels clicked across the kitchen’s Spanish tile. Their hollow echo mocked her as she paced the empty kitchen. In some way, she was grateful that no one was present to witness this humiliation.

He wasn’t just late. She stood by the kitchen door, peering through the sheer curtain just to make sure her eyes weren’t lying to her.

No car was pulling up through the gates and packing in the circular driveway. No crunch of feet against gravel traveled to her ears on the low breeze that picked up outside. All her rehearsed greetings that she’d murmured to her reflection with varying postures and facial expressions died a merciful death.

Really…she hated blind dates, if she had to be honest.

But she’d gone to so much effort.

*

 

“This is nice,” Kitty pointed out, holding up what had to be the sixth pair of jeans that were almost identical to the first ones she’d found for Ororo to try on. Ororo despised the Gap.

“I hate the pockets.”

“You’ll have room to carry your keys.”

“I’ll look like a camel carrying supplies.” Kitty pouted, then stuck out her tongue. She, for one, loved her own pair of khaki capris with generous cargo pockets, giving her the illusion of more rounded hips.

“Hmmph…” She hung the pair of size eight’s back on their rack while Ororo perused a shelf of folded blouses.

Everything in the shop was so…monotone. Almost vanilla. And definitely overpriced, she thought bitterly, dropping the tag of a white sundress like it was a hot potato.

“I want something nice,” Ororo complained.

“There’s plenty of nice things in here,” Kitty argued. “You’re just not opening your mind to the possibilities.”

“The possibility of what? Leaving the date just in time to get to my job selling quality furniture at Ikea?” Kitty snorted, swatting her. “Admit it, that’s what half of this looks like.”

“I figured you’d want something safe for a first date. Not too over the top.”

And therein lay the problem.

That restlessness lingering just below her usual reserve was nagging her again. It struck her during the change of the season, more often than not, and it usually spelled danger.

It began with small things, like eating cookies for dinner or not quite waiting for the walk light on the corner when she crossed the street. She couldn’t describe it, but there was just this…mischief that she could feel leaking from her a drop at a time. A need to get into trouble.

Remy, bless his heart, was usually the first to notice, and to encourage it. But lately, he was gone more often, spending more time out west at Anna Marie’s Valle Soleada home ever since her injuries temporarily crippled her.

Anna sent Ororo a picture she’d taken on her mobile phone of the two of them grinning back at her with the beach in the background, Anna’s cheek pressed to Remy’s and eyes shining like she didn’t have a care in the world. And that was because she didn’t. Ororo envied them, resentment of their happiness infusing her veins like slow poison.

Ororo could find the cure for these ills above the rooftops of Tokyo, if she were at liberty to leave the school on short notice. Yukio’s emails were filled with descriptions of her comings and goings and a standing invitation to stay with her for a few months.

Like a good little girl, Ororo always gave the same reply. Soon, wild one. But not this time. Miss you.

Kitty and Rachel had wrestled the scissors from her hands the night before.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rachel demanded from the doorway. Kitty peered over her shoulder as Ororo stood beside her bathroom sink, blades poised over a handful of her rippling white hair.

“I need a change.”

“Ohhhh, no you don’t,” Kitty groaned, shaking her head. “Uh-uh. Hand ‘em over, and nobody gets hurt.”

“But…I’m just-“

“Gimme!” Rachel added, and Ororo felt the charge of energy around them as the golden Phoenix raptor manifested itself over her eyes, its glow throwing a shadow over her face. Her expression was weary and annoyed as she telekinetically snatched the scissors from Ororo’s hand.

“Hey!”

“Don’t even think about it,” Kitty warned, folding her arms beneath her breasts. “You had that look in your eye again. No way is your hair gonna suffer whatever you’ve got planned for it.”

“There’s no ‘look.’ I don’t have any such ‘look’ in my eye,” Ororo argued, her posture matching Kitty’s.

“Sure you don’t,” Rachel said. “Luckily we came along when we did, Kate.”

“Please,” Ororo scoffed, indicating smoothly for them to talk to the hand. She turned away from them and ran a brush through her long, thick white waves. “What’s wrong with me wanting a little change?”

“There’s no such animal with you,” Kitty reminded her. “Two words, Rachel: Mohawk. Leather.”

“I remember. I walked in on the tail end of that, but I remember,” Rachel agreed, shaking her head. “Do you know how long it takes most women to grow their hair out like yours? I’m lucky if I get this much after months.” Rachel indicated her own chin-length red hair, worn in a sensible little flip.

“So it will grow back if I grow tired of whatev-“

“NO!” Kitty cried, cutting her off. “N. O. No. Uh-uh. As of now, Rachel and I are taking that hair into protective custody.”

“But-“

“No buts.” Rachel turned up her TK again, and this time Kitty and Ororo shivered with the currents shifting around them as she searched Ororo’s room for anything resembling a sharp object. Her Veet razors, scissors, letter openers, X-acto blades from her desk and even a butter knife left on her plate from her bran muffin floated out the door.

“You’ll get these back when you’re feeling back to normal,” Rachel told her cheerfully.

“But-“

“Later, sweet pea,” Kitty added. The young girls flounced out of the room. A tendril of Ororo’s hair drifted down over her eyes. She blew it back up in frustration.

Two days later, Ororo walked past her reflection in the window of a café. The afternoon sun illuminated it, rays dancing over the strands and making it transform that light into an aura of iridescent color. That light always seemed to follow her as a token of her powers, and as a side benefit. Ororo sighed.

Really. There was nothing wrong with her hair. So something had to be wrong with her.

When she came home from running her errands, Lorna stepped out into the hallway. Her eyes lit up when she saw Ororo.

“Hold on, here,” she beckoned. Ororo stopped by the doorway of Lorna and Alex’s suite as she ducked back inside to rummage on her desk for something.

“What is it?”

“Phone message. I wrote it down in a hurry, hopefully you can read my chicken scratch. Stevie called.”

“Wonderful!” Ororo said, pleased. She took the note eagerly, reading Lorna’s girlish scrawl. “That doesn’t look like her home number.”

“It’s her cell. Give her a call?” Lorna suggested. “She sounded excited about something.”

Ororo made it up to her loft and moved about the room, straightening up and watering her plants. She dialed Stevie’s number and put her on speaker.

“Hey, girl. Where’ve ya been, gimme some sugar!” Ororo chuckled.

“I never hear from you anymore. It’s good to hear your voice, Stevie.”

“Wouldn’t know it, with as little as I hear from you,” Stevie accused. “What’s it take for a sistah to get a little love around here?”

“What did you have in mind?” Ororo assumed a shopping trip.

“A favor.” Ororo’s smile faltered.

“What kind of favor?”

“One that could benefit you and me both. My kid brother Saul’s coming to town.”

“That’s nice.”

“Not necessarily. I’m choreographing a big children’s dance festival I’m putting on at the school that weekend. I’m going to be up to my neck in seven-to-twelve year olds for three days and in no shape to do much of anything else by way of entertaining him.”

“And?” Ororo waited for the other shoe to drop.

“And…you’d get dinner and a movie out of it.”

“You’re serious…oh, Stevie. No.”

“C’mon, girl!”

“Nooooooooooooo, nononono,” Ororo begged off. “Blind date. Disaster. That is all.”

“It wouldn’t be ‘blind.’ You both know me. And hold up, hang up and let me call your cell, I’ll send you a picture of him!”

“Stevie, wait-“

Click. Ororo scowled at the handset and made a sound of disgust.

“Goddess…why?” Ororo threw up her hands and went back to cleaning off her vanity.

Her cell phone played Mary J Blige’s “As I Am” from her large leather tote. Ororo dug it out and hit ‘ok’ when it told her she had one new picture message.

“Oh…helloooooooo,” Ororo whistled, eyeing the photo appreciatively as it downloaded one row of pixels at a time.

Saul was ridiculously handsome, with his sister’s dark, chocolatey complexion and laughing black eyes. His grin was shy, as though Stevie had caught him by surprise with the camera.

Ororo sighed. What could it hurt?

She called her back.

“What’s the catch? What’s wrong with him?” Ororo greeted her in lieu of hello.

“He’s male,” Stevie flipped back. “Whaddya want? Nah, girl, he’s not that bad. No more hardheaded than any other man we know, but he can cook, he’s a great dancer –“

“Which goes without saying,” Ororo chuckled.

“…taught that boy everything he knows, thank you,” Stevie agreed. “He’s employed. He pays his bills. That’s a pretty good plus, admit it.”

Silently, Ororo thought, No shit.

“Anything I need to know? Any fixations? Is he a talker? Any exes stalking him? Does he pick his nose or scratch himself in public?”

“Girl…ew.” Then Stevie recanted. “Not much.”

Ororo sputtered with laughter.

*

So it was a date. Stevie arranged it for a Friday and left it up to Saul to call Ororo once she set the ball rolling.

He didn’t sound too bad, Ororo decided. Nice rich, deep voice with a hint of his sister’s drawl. He complained that Stevie hadn’t sent him a picture of Ororo, so she had him at a disadvantage. Ororo was actually fine with that.

Some part of her feminine vanity compelled her to want his first, unadulterated, unbiased reaction to her at first sight without any primer. Sometimes a first impression was the best one.

A first look to judge someone’s body language and expressions was vital. Ever since Ororo was a child pickpocket, she’d become a good judge of character just from sizing up her marks. It was a useful skill. She usually knew within five minutes if a date would yield It’s getting late, I have an early day tomorrow? or I had a nice time, are you busy next weekend? by night’s end.

Dinner and a movie. It was an ambitious first endeavor, too. Potentially three hours for either of them to get it wrong.

*

The Gap lost its appeal quickly. 

“Let’s go,” Ororo muttered, preceding Kitty out of the store.

“Did you see everything you needed to see? You could get the white one, maybe with some trinkets to put with it?”

“No,” Ororo said curtly. “Different plan of attack.”

Kitty and Rachel shared a look. Oh. No.

Ororo’s long legs were difficult to keep up with once she had her target in her sights.

“Are you sure you don’t want to rethink this?” Rachel suggested, trying to distract her. “New York and Company’s that way.”

“Or Aeropostale,” Kitty chimed in. “They had some nice black-“

“Save it.” Ororo cut her off. “It’s time to either come hard, or go home.” Rachel shivered.

There. Right in the front window, dressing a faceless, white plaster mannequin. Ororo heeded its siren call. 

Try me on for size, darlin’. Ororo marched into the store and made a beeline for the newest arrivals on the front rack.

The fabric was decadent, cool and slick beneath her palm as she stroked it. She ignored the price tag; her Visa seemed to burn a hole in her purse. It would be smoking by the time she was finished with it that afternoon.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Positive. Make yourself busy, find me some bangles.”

“Eep.”

The changing room attendant looked intimidated as she handed her a tag with a “1” on it and hung it on Ororo’s door. Ororo locked it behind her and hung the dress on the hook. Her clothes drifted to the floor and she removed it from the hanger.

It felt luxurious sliding over her skin. The back of the dress plunged, but thankfully, it had a bra insert in the front that offered more decency than support. She gave a slight shimmy in the mirror, watching the light catch the gleaming fiber of the fabric.

It was perfect. Just what the doctor ordered.

She stepped out of the dressing room in her bare feet. “Well? What do you think?”

Rachel’s jaw dropped.

“Eep,” Kitty squeaked.

That was all Ororo needed to know.

“I need shoes, too.” She did an about face and breezed back into the changing room, but not before the changing clerk did a double take and a teenage boy shopping with his sister nearly hurt himself walking into an earring rack as he turned to stare.

I hope her date has health insurance,Rachel murmured into Kitty’s thoughts, making no bones about using her telepathy in a public place.

A spare pair of dry pants wouldn’t hurt, either. Poor guy’s gonna piss himself.

*

So that left her here. Alone. Waiting.

Fuming.

Ten minutes would have been fashionably late, easily dismissed with I got caught in traffic. Twenty minutes would have pushed the boundaries of Ororo’s manners, but again would have been taken in stride with flowers.

An hour. Sixty minutes of her life that she wouldn’t get back, not counting however long the date would have dragged on if they’d had no chemistry.

Ororo threw up her hands. “I give up. Do you hear that, Bright Lady? I give up.” Ororo paced. Her phone hadn’t rung, not even her mobile.

The children had left for a bowling trip. Lorna and Alex turned in early; Ororo heard snatches of dialogue from 27 Dresses from the other side of the door as she passed their room upstairs. Clearly Lorna had won the coin toss for their choice of movies, promising a chick flick marathon. Ororo hoped Alex at least had some beer. Poor, miserable bastard…

Kitty and Rachel made themselves scarce, having grown just as tired of waiting for Saul to show up so they could “scope him out.” Their hugs of sympathy coupled with “At least you look nice” didn’t make her feel any better.

Her feet were already feeling the pinch of her new shoes from pacing the kitchen. A drink or two and breaking them in on the dance floor might remedy that. Ororo wasn’t particularly hungry, and there was nothing she wanted to see in the theater.

Fine, then.

She grabbed her tiny purse and walked out, locking up behind her. Not even ten paces down the gravel, she flung herself into the sky.

She wasn’t worried about which car to take, and she could always hail a cab on the way home. She noticed briefly that Logan’s bike was gone. That’s no surprise…

Yet Ororo felt slightly disappointed that the feral was already gone. She wondered what kind of trouble he’d gotten into without her.

She generated a light fog around her to cover her flight, enveloping herself in a pocket of warm, dry air so she wouldn’t compromise her hair. The wind made her dress flutter, caressing her skin. It was a good night to be out, despite the circumstances.

She landed just shy of Salem Square, mere blocks from Harry’s Hideaway. She stood on the rooftop, surveying the street. There was a steady stream of traffic and the sidewalks were relatively crowded, but not enough to wake her claustrophobia. Fine.

It didn’t matter. She stopped traffic on every corner, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea, rippling open to let her pass. The faint breeze lifted her hair slightly and toyed with the short hemline of her dress, whose slightly flared skirt swayed when she walked. She had long, long legs and generously curved hips that swung gracefully when she walked, without any conscious effort on her part. A hint of her perfume drifted after her, tickling the senses of anyone staring after her with enticing notes of sandalwood and spice.

Harry’s was the logical first stop. It was early yet, not even nine. With any luck, things would liven up a bit after she had a glass of wine.

Guido, Harry’s ID checker, grinned when he saw her.

“What’s new, pretty lady? Whaddya got goin’ on?”

“Too much time, too little prospects. I’m bored,” she complained.

“Just give it a few minutes, gorgeous. Damn, ‘Ro, ya look hot!” He checked her ID as a formality. He held onto it when she went to take it, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Take it easy on these poor stiffs, awright?”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” she promised as she tucked the card back into her wallet. Whistles from the street followed her inside.

She greeted Harry at the bar. The graying proprietor came around from the counter and gave her a hearty hug. He talked her out of her wine, promising her that the drink special was more worth her while.

“Lemon drop martinis,” he promised. “Best thing you’ve ever tasted. Go slow on ‘em, though, okay, kiddo?”

“You have my word.”

*

Half an hour later, Ororo was working on her second one, savoring it, licking the sugar crystals from the rim of her glass. Harry gave them to her on the house, particularly when he noticed her refusing and sending back the drinks delivered by sheepish waitresses. Ororo enjoyed the attention but wasn’t in the mood to be bought. Some of her refusals were polite; occasionally they had to be blunt.

She wanted to dance, but the idea lost its appeal without any female company to egg her out onto the floor.

She watched her reflection in the wall-length mirror behind the bar, then looked beyond herself, people watching amongst the crowd.

*

“Someone’s in fine form,” rumbled a voice over Logan’s shoulder.

“Eh?”

“How much have ya taken these suckers for so far?”

“What’s goin’ on,” Logan greeted Guido, nodding up to him as he sank the red striped ball in the corner pocket. There were only two more balls left; his opponent looked annoyed, realizing he’d indeed been taken for a ride.

“Who let ya off yer leash tonight?”

“Fuck off,” Logan told him goodnaturedly. The huge bouncer clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over. 

“Seriously, man, ya’ve got about the best lookin’ chaperone a troublemaker like you could ask for.”

“What’re ya talkin’ about?”

“Yer boss lady. Turned everyone’s head when she walked in here, just about gave ‘em whiplash.”

“Boss lady? What the heck are ya talk-“ Guido flicked his hand toward the bar.

The blue block of chalk dropped from his hand, followed by his cue clattering to the ground. Logan’s nostrils flared.

What the hell does she think she’s doing?

“She cleans up nice, don’t she?”

“Put yer eyes back in yer head,” Logan snapped, grabbing his half-finished bottle of Molson on his way out of the billiard lounge.

*

She felt him at her back before she even looked up into the mirror again. Her hand ceased stirring the last of her martini and ice with the short red straw.

Goddess…his eyes…

Ororo swallowed, then licked her lips.

Logan’s blood pressure ratcheted up another notch when she spun around slowly on her barstool. Her long legs were crossed elegantly, and her foot was swinging slightly as she appraised him.

“Whaddya think yer doin’, ‘Ro?”

His face was stony, nostrils flaring, and his back was up, that much Ororo could tell.

For some reason, it piqued her.

“Hello, stranger,” she greeted him.

“What the hell have ya got on?”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” she continued. Her left brow rose incrementally and the corner of her lips twitched.

She felt a bubble of danger in her belly at the reaction he had.

It felt…yummy.

“Where’d ya leave the rest of yer outfit?” he continued, ignoring her pleasantries.

“This is it,” she said simply. “What’s the matter, you don’t like it?” She accompanied her question with a small pout.

You don’t like it? Was she freakin’ kidding him?

That wasn’t ‘Ro. Not his ‘Ro, he reasoned. Not all alone, sipping on pretty, fruity drinks and wearing a scandalous little dress that suggested sin and promised heart attacks.

Purple. She wore it effortlessly, a regal, rich shade of amethyst. The fabric was luminescent, made of some shiny fabric that made it shift to a deeper plum in certain lights. The sleeves were three-quarter length, revealing her slender forearms and wrists full of thin bangles. The neckline in the front was modest, but with her long fall of white hair swept over her shoulder, when Logan approached her at the bar, her back was bare. Smooth, lean, graceful and completely exposed.

What would have also been a decent hemline on a woman of average height was a walking violation on Ororo, who stood close to six feet tall. Her shoes were a pair of strappy, open-toed silver sandals that made her legs look longer, if that was possible. And those legs were bare, flawlessly smooth and gleaming slightly from some lotion she’d caressed over them before she went out the door.

Her makeup was sparing, just some kohl and smoky eyeshadow and a light lip gloss that added shine to that mouth. Hoop earrings swung from her ears.

She’d taken extra effort with her appearance. But she was alone. What was she playing at?

“Ya’ve never been a barfly before, ‘Ro.”

“I’m still not,” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “I wanted to get out and get some air.”

“This is yer idea of gettin’ some air?”

“I’m allowed to be flexible in my definition, Logan.”

“But why…” He stopped himself. “Why…in that?” He softened his voice, then pulled up a barstool beside her, disappointing half the men across the room who’d been watching Ororo all night.

“Because I didn’t feel like changing out of it. Why let it go to waste?”

“Did ya have plans?”

“A date. It didn’t work out.”

“No sparks, huh? Was he an ass?”

“No. I don’t even know, but there’s no need to put it that way,” Ororo said, slightly irritated, but at least Logan’s face wasn’t smug. He beckoned to Harry to refill their drinks. 

“Whaddya mean, ya don’t know?”

“I got stood up.” They were both facing the bar again, and she was clearly pissed off, even though all she did was despondently stir her ice in the glass again.

What a fuckin’ idiot. Logan was incredulous. Of all the women he picked to brush off, why Ororo?

“Was he pretty decent when he asked ya out?”

“It was a set up. Blind date. Not originally my idea.”

“Sheesh. Maybe he saved ya the trouble.”

Ororo huffed. “It might not have been that bad.”

“Yeah, right. Darlin’, last time anyone set me up on a blind date, I ended up with a schizophrenic ex-con with enough piercings ta set off a metal detector.”

“Lovely,” Ororo tsked.

“I thought ya liked wine,” Logan pointed out, surprised when Harry gave Ororo another of what she was having.

“I like these, too. It’s nice to try something new.”

“They’re a little potent, darlin’. Be careful.”

“Oh, come on, now, they’re not that strong.” Ororo took another long drag on her straw, enjoying that one as much as the last. She rose from her seat. “I want some music, anything you want to hear on the jukebox-“ She spun on her heel to head in that general direction, then proceeded to trip over her own feet.

Logan was up in a flash. “Hey, hey, watch out, darlin’!” 

“Oof…”

“Told ya?”

“Logan?”

“Yeah, ‘Ro?” 

“Since when are there two of you?”

He had his hands at her waist, and they felt hot through the thin fabric of her dress. Her blue eyes were a bit too bright, and he heard a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Yer tipsy.”

“Am…*hic*…not.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“And if you intend to lecture me, Logan, then you can walk right out that door and take your friends with you.”

“What friends?”

“The pink elephants.”

His brows drew together. Ororo poked him in his side, then giggled.

“You should see your face.”

“Ya oughta listen ta yerself,” he flipped back. “Brat.”

She freed herself from his grip, missing the contact. His touch on her body seemed to linger, though, as she made her selections from the jukebox menu.

She took her time, flipping through the magazine one rack at a time. Logan sat back and watched her, nursing his beer.

She looked beautiful, tall, proud and pensive. There was something lonely in her eyes tonight, and slightly restless.

He’d grown used to her moods. He knew her usual way of dealing with them was to squelch them, smother them under her calm mask. Then, every now and again, she’d do something drastic. Sometimes Yukio was involved, sometimes Remy, but usually Ororo could do bad all by herself.

But he felt sad on her behalf, this time, that it looked like she got her hopes up and had them shot down just as quickly.

It was a waste of a hot little dress for her to just stay home, make popcorn and watch Cheaters in the dark.

Then again…what kind of message was an outfit like that sending?

Logan argued with himself as Ororo fed the machine several quarters.

He wasn’t her father, fer cryin’ out loud. She was a grown woman. She had the right to go out and shake her tailfeathers every once in a while if she wanted, who was he to get his nose out of joint?

She joined him back at the bar, looking to finish her drink. Logan slid over the bowl of beer nuts, nodding for her to take some.

“So this was just gonna be a date? Just one?”

“It was up to him to make me see it any differently,” Ororo shrugged.

“Uh…were ya lookin’ forward to it?”

“Honestly?” She sighed. “No.”

*

The next few minutes found them huddling slightly closer together as the bar began to fill up and people began to surround them in a little enclave. Ororo’s claustrophobia was beginning to kick in. Logan sensed the change in her mood, noticing the tight set of her shoulders.

“Ya okay?”

“For the moment,” she murmured, trying to smile for him. She licked more sugar from her glass.

The gesture was distracting, watching her tongue lap up the crystals slowly, appreciatively. Dimly he wondered how sweet the drink tasted, if it was good as her expression suggested. Logan licked his lips as a reflex to watching her. Ororo looked up to find him watching her.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Nah,” he replied. His eyes were dark and so focused on her that she shivered.

“Why did you come out alone?”

“Because I always come out alone.” He had a point.

“No plans?”

“My agenda involved beer, pool, darts, and feelin’ a little wind in my ears on the way out and back.”

Ororo made a small sound of agreement in her throat. She appreciated the need for “a little wind.”

“Logan? Um…do you mind me being here with you? Am I…cramping your style?”

“Nah.”

If anything, she was raising his street cred. She smelled enticing, whatever perfume she wore was underscored by her own natural scent. Companionably, he laid his hand against the small of her back, to reassure her.

Bad move…

Her skin was unbelievably soft, and her back so lean that he could feel the pearls of her spinal cord. A current passed between them, covering Ororo in goosebumps. Her skin was cool from the air conditioning in the bar, or perhaps from Ororo’s control of her body temperature.

His hand felt hot. Ororo swallowed.

“Do you ever get lonely?”

“It ain’t anythin’ gettin’ away for a while won’t cure.”

But even that was a lie.

The only thing Logan had to keep him company sometimes were his ghosts, or the demons shrieking in his head at nightfall. Those phantoms drove him away, making his feet itchy and restless.

He had friends, sometimes whether he wanted them or not. Despite the on-again, off-again chemistry between them, Logan was Jean’s favorite “project” and she frequently tried to draw him out, even while pushing him away. It was frustrating, but he must have enjoyed it on some level, or he wouldn’t keep letting her do it.

Ororo was watching him very intently. His cheeks grew hot when she reached for his hand.

“Did I ever tell you that I appreciate you?”

“Why d’ya ask?”

“Because I do.” Her fingers closed around his, and she stroked his knuckles with her slender thumb. Her hands were cool but soft. Logan suddenly felt awkward.

Her proximity was doing something to him, not helped by the warm glow she gave off that heightened her pheromones, her soft, husky voice and her relaxed posture after the few drinks she’d had.

Ororo was trouble wrapped in a tiny wisp of a dress.

A foolish voice in his head reminded him that he’d never run from trouble…

It felt like the time for a true confession. Logan set down his beer bottle. He squeezed her hand, turning on the stool to face her more fully.

“Maybe I appreciate you, too, ‘Ro.”

“Maybe, huh?”

“But don’t tell anyone. Might make ‘em expect too much of me.”

“On my honor, to the grave, my friend.” Her lips twitched.

They also looked full and soft. She might not appreciate the thoughts those lips evoked or the way her knee lightly rubbing against his was affecting his body and concentration.

Then again, maybe she would.

Her music selections began to play. She looked pleased, then laughter bubbled out of her.

“C’mon,” she urged him, standing up and now tugging on his hand.

“What?”

“Come over,” she said, nodding to the tiny dance floor.

“Uh-uh. I ain’t into gettin’ up in front of…aw, c’mon, ‘Ro!’ She was pretty much dragging him, doing a surprisingly good job of it in those tippy heels.

“Please?” Her voice was plaintive, but her smile was smug. He didn’t push her away or remove her hands from him as they drifted over his shoulders, winding her arms softly around his neck. His lips turned into a thin line and he breathed out in disgust. Then he was resigned.

At least it was a good song. Her choice surprised him.

Maybe. The Chantels. A classic. He remembered it had been one of Ace’s favorites to listen to when they were on road trips on their Jeep’s staticky radio. She was a typical Boston girl and loved do-wop music.

The low thump of the upright bass in the song guided his feet. He didn’t dance. That didn’t stop Ororo from trying to convince him that he did, and the sweet press of her body against his took the decision out of his hands. At least it was a slow song. No bizarre contortions or guarding his feet from people trampling them in their drunken zeal, no girls backing up or bumping into him, pretending they were Paula Abdul.

A few couples joined them out on the floor, making him feel less self-conscious. His hands rested around her waist, and he was still fascinated by the slick texture of the dress she wore.

It made her curves feel liquid and too touchable. Ororo leaned into him and dipped her chin until her cheek rested against his neck.

“You smell so good,” she whispered.

He swallowed. “Glad ya approve.”

Damn it…she was nuzzling him, straining his good intentions and self-control.

C’mon, fer fuck’s sake…this is ‘Ro. Ororo. Munroe.

He screamed at his body that she was off-limits. His cock told him that it sure didn’t feel that way, when her body molded itself to him the longer they gently swayed to the music.

Logan’s body felt like paradise snuggled against her. He was so solid and firm, and she felt his chest rising and falling against hers, oblivious as to why. They were too close for decency, or to distinguish his breathing from hers. His breath stirred her hair and tickled the tender juncture of her shoulder and neck. His lips were so close to that place. 

She craved them, just the lightest brush, just the merest taste of her skin. She knew it was wrong.

She still burned for him.

Her eyes slowly opened in confusion; she didn’t realize that they had drifted shut in contentment. The music seeped into her blood and she rolled it around on her tongue.

Absently, she burrowed her nose in the flap of his collar, breathing in a deep draft of his male scent and the hint of detergent and cologne. It was intoxicating. 

Her buzz died. She felt his hands tighten on her hips, then drift back to her waist. His breathing hitched once…and Ororo panicked.

Please, Bright Lady, don’t let him stop. He feels too good. She didn’t want him to pull back, and she waited for him to make up his mind, noticing how the cords of his neck went taut. He didn’t stop dancing, but he slowed down, hesitating.

Ororo focused on the most incremental movements he made against her, sifting through them, judging which were intentional or by chance.

If she tasted him, would he tell her to stop? Her cheek rubbed the column of his throat like a cat seeking a caress, and she felt him straining against her, control worn thin.

His breath shuddered out of him.

“’Ro,” he murmured.

Her eyes snapped shut in disappointment. He broke the spell, just as she’d dreaded, and she was left with the hollow feeling of guilt.

She was taking liberties. Wasn’t she.

Yes, she was.

He was indulging her, sharing a reluctant dance with a friend, and she was cleaving to him, molding herself to him and feeding off of his heat. She leaned back with a sigh, hating the inevitable return to reason.

“Logan, I-“

She was cut off, silenced by the hot press of his lips against hers, capturing their softness. She mewed in surprise, then sighed in pleasure, eyes drifting shut again.

His arms were locked around her waist, and she squirmed and ground against him, taking more and more of his kiss, almost frantic to taste all of him. Goddess, he tasted so good. She greedily combed her fingers through the back of his hair, which was satisfyingly thick.

Damn it.

She dragged him over the edge. No…she showed it to him, and he jumped over without any argument. Why tiptoe around it?

She tasted so good, sounded so sweet whimpering into the kiss like she was afraid he’d stop.

He cursed her dress, because it left too much of her bare. Wherever his fingers landed, they grazed her silky skin that warmed beneath his touch. The image flashed in his mind of Ororo’s missing date benefiting from her “exposure” and made him want to kill the guy all over again.

Before the song was even over, he looked up into her eyes. His were riveted on her face, the flushed cheeks and the way her breath dragged itself in and out of her perfect mouth. 

He tugged her after him, back toward the billiard room. He jerked his jacket off a nearby hook, and they retraced their steps out the front door.

His sharp hearing picked up the pounding of her heart and her staggered breathing. They almost ran out onto the sidewalk, ignoring Guido’s shouted warning not to do anything he wouldn’t do.

The wind tore at their clothing, as though attempting to help them out of it prematurely while they hurried to Logan’s bike.

A thought occurred to him while Ororo stood pressed against his back, nibbling his ear while he dug in his pocket for his keys. She was making it hard to think.

“Ororo, what about yer dress?”

“The sooner we get back, the sooner you can take it off,” she reasoned simply.

That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. But it was the right one. He was hard as a rock.

The ride back was sweet torture, with the bike rumbling between his legs and Ororo pressed against his back, her long thighs flush against his. Her arms were wrapped possessively around his waist, feeling so much like ownership, which was completely foreign to him.

He didn’t even remember their trek from the garage to the house. The foyer was blessedly dark when they stumbled inside and kicked the door shut behind them, then fell against it as they attacked each other. The back of Ororo’s head lightly thumped the solid, sturdy oak panel before he crushed her mouth with his, and she sighed into the kiss, as much in relief as in pleasure. They were finally alone.

Her shoes and his jacket didn’t make it all the way up to her loft; impatiently they were shucked and kicked off in the first floor hallway as they tripped the rest of the way upstairs, desperate.

Desire roared through her veins, claiming her like a drug. He grasped the hem of her dress and pushed it up, over her breasts and pulled it over her head, letting her hair rain back down around her shoulders and flushed face. She stood clad in only a tiny pair of black bikinis; the dress didn’t allow the nuisance of a bra, for which he was too grateful. Her breasts felt like satin and they yielded to his touch, nipples stiffening and pressing themselves into the heat of his palms. Shocks of arousal traveled through her body when he circled their peaks with his thumbs, then bowed his head to taste them. She arched into it, cleaving to him while she clawed the hem of his shirt from the back of his waistband. Ororo’s fingers threaded into his hair with no restraint; she had the freedom to rumple him as much as she wanted now that they were behind closed doors. And it felt so right, so lush, sliding through her hands.

She hungered for him. She made short work of his shirt, glad he’d merely rolled up the sleeves instead of fastening the cuffs; she had only to jerk it over his head, following it with his ribbed wifebeater tank that was worn thin from many launderings and warm from contact with his body. She breathed in his scent and sucked his earlobe between her teeth, loving his choked cry. She drew on it like hard candy and was rewarded by congruent, slick heat at her breast as he lapped and suckled her, groaning into her flesh.

They stumbled back until she dropped back onto the bed. Automatically her hands went to his fly, ripping open the button and zipper savagely and jerking his pants until they hammocked his thighs. She ran her palms over them and leaned in toward the bulge in his boxers, breathing over it.

“Oh, God,” he grunted, cords in his next straining as he swallowed. She was killing him. Killing him.

She removed him from the flap of the soft cotton shorts and brushed her lips over the turgid, swollen head. His skin felt silky and warm and tasted slightly salty as she drew him inside her mouth. Velvety, moist heat enveloped him, and he cursed, body drawing itself stiff as a board. She sighed in contentment over how good he felt as her hands roamed his body, feeling the contrast in textures between the supple smoothness of his skin and the crisp, coarse texture of his hair. She released him for the briefest of moments and dragged off the offending shorts, letting those, too, pool around his ankles.

His cock stiffened and pulsed in her mouth; her low moans of pleasure vibrated through him, enhancing the sensations and bringing him closer to the brink. Her beautiful eyes were closed as she drew on him, cheeks faintly hollowed as she suckled, and he tangled his hand in her rippling waves of hair, enjoying how soft and rich it felt. Barely exerting any pressure at the base of her skull, he gently pressed her into each thrust of his hips, speeding her languorous pace, encouraging her to sheathe him all the way to his sac. Her nails raked down his thighs whisper-light, sending a jolt through his nerve endings; then her hands traveled back up, caressing the hard, smooth mounds of his ass before she squeezed them.

It felt so good to mold his flesh and take so much control of his pleasure. Ororo felt dampness pooling between her legs, slicking the delicate satin briefs. Over and over she claimed him, moaning as she swallowed all of his flavors. 

He was trembling. Logan choked back curses and his breathing was hitched and difficult.

He captured her hand, which errantly strayed up to toy with his nipple, and he pulled her to her feet. She looked disappointed and confused that he made her stop. He kissed her hungrily, then dragged his mouth hotly down her neck. She bucked and arched against him as his fingers crept between her legs and stroked her through the black satin. They worked their way up under the gather of the briefs and found her tender flesh, easily parting her soft folds. Her intake of breath was sharp and she cried out when his fingers dipped inside her heat, stroking her.

“Want you,” he rumbled, tracing her collarbones with his lips.

“Please,” she whispered, so ready, so needy and impatient.

The panties scraped their way down her legs and she kicked them off before he leaned her back, easing her down on the bed and covering her body. The deliciousness of skin sliding against skin was overpowering, heat and musk mingling atop rumpled sheets. Ororo’s embrace was a hungry, desperate thing as he moved against her, buffeting her sex with his hardness. The plump head of his cock abraded her clit as he ground himself against her, making himself slick with her juices. Ororo cried out, moaning his name and scoring his back with her nails.

Supple thighs were parted and lifted until her knees were crooked over his shoulder, heels grazing his back. He stoked her heat, thrusting his fingers inside her and feeling her walls flex around him, urging a more intimate, thorough union. She mewled impatiently as he stroked her, then gasped when he teased her one last time with the head of his cock before sheathing himself inside her.

Moans, cries and prayers filled the loft as he thrust and rutted, taking both of them to heights that didn’t even exist in her dreams. She watched him through dazed eyes; his body’s silhouette was broad, tapered, and perfectly sculpted. It was erotic just watching the play of his hard pecs and flex of his abdominal muscles. She slid her palms up and down the slope of his thighs and ran her hand down his flat belly. He felt so perfect. Rapture coiled in her gut as he slammed into her.

She looked so beautiful writhing beneath him, head thrown back and lower lip caught between her teeth. Logan ran his hand over her, caressing the smooth slope of her breast and belly. His thumb teased her slit, massaging it and spreading her own juices over it, making her slippery, enhancing the sensation when he changed the angle to better rub against her.

This had always brewed between them and it was always placed gently back up on the shelf. So how could she maintain any semblance of control or clear thinking when she’d waited so long, denied herself so much? How could she hold back any longer when he felt so right, completed her with so much sweet intensity, groaning her name in that husky rasp that she loved so much, that she now realized was meant just for her?

Faster. Harder. He followed her unspoken commands as she tightened around him and twisted her hands in the sheets.

“Please,” she sobbed. “Please, Logan.”

“Darlin’,” he choked. “Aw, man…aw, God…”

The perfect blend of friction, heat and speed threw her over the edge. Ripples of pleasure gathered in her womb, and her climax rocked her body beneath his, taking him for the ride.

“Beautiful,” he hissed, “so fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’! Aw, God!” He thrust and pounded into her, driven to follow her into bliss.

The last few thrusts turned into abbreviated, spasmodic jerks as his climax ripped through his lower spine, ebbing out of him in a long, sweet release. His fingers dug into her thighs as he whipped back and forth, face filled with shock and wonder, even denial that she could make him feel this way, claim him so completely.

They lay together moments later, breathing hard, shuddering and limp. Logan’s breath fanned over her hairline and his arms tightened around her. She kissed a tender spot below his collarbone and stared into the darkness, musing.

“I’m not drunk,” she murmured.

He was stroking her like a cat. “I know that, ‘Ro.”

“Just so we’re clear. No excuses. No calling this ‘bad judgment.’”

“Like fuck it is,” he snapped, giving her rear a little slap. “This was a damned good idea.”

“If you regret this in the morning, I’m never speaking to you again.”

“See how regretful I act when ya wake up with me inside ya again,” he growled.

“This better not have been pity sex,” she growled back, lightly biting the edge of his chin. She felt his chest shake beneath her cheek as she settled back down into his heat.

“Does this feel like pity?” He was drawing light patterns over her skin with his fingertips. She purred and played with the hair on his chest, then laid her palm over his heartbeat.

She was drowsy and content in his arms and was about to drop off to sleep when her phone rang, breaking the silence.

“Fuck,” Logan muttered. Ororo tsked.

It rang again.

“You gonna get that?”

And again.

“Pfft. Hell, no.” Logan’s chest quaked.

And again.

“Stubborn bastard.”

“Sure seems to be now.”

Beep. “Ororo? Hey. It’s Saul. I just wanted to say, babe, I’m sorry we didn’t connect tonight…hope waiting on me didn’t get in the way of your plans…”

ZZZAAAPP! A small, crackling sphere of blue lightning flew across the room and shorted out the answering machine.

“Not gonna return that, huh?” Ororo rolled Logan fully onto his back and settled herself against him, teasing his lips.

“He said he didn’t want to get in the way of my plans,” she murmured, nuzzling his neck again, closing in on that sultry, male scent she enjoyed so much.

 

FIN.

Additional Note: If you Google the song “Maybe” by the Chantels, you can find a video clip or two on YouTube. I’m not going to exhaust anyone with making them read the lyrics. Just go listen to the song instead, you won’t regret it.


End file.
